


Handshake

by orphan_account



Series: The Learning Curve [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Ask Me About My Knot, Drugs, Furries, Gen, Gender, Sexuality, TW: CSA, TW: Unhealthy Behaviors, The Scientific Method, Trauma, every single paul blart, foot tall bongs, furry raves, hook-ups, pheremones, pickup artists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jade Harley, intrepid scientist, braces herself and dives headfirst into the tricky realm of sexual behavior. None of the facts are reliable and the data refuses to correlate. However, our heroine is nothing if not a girl of action. She is willing to do whatever it will take to solve this mystery.
Relationships: Jade Harley/Dave Strider, Jade Harley/Davesprite, Jade Harley/Roxy Lalonde, Jade Harley/Various Inhabitants of Earth C, Karkat Vantas/Dave Strider
Series: The Learning Curve [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719508
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	Handshake

**Author's Note:**

> so, i wrote this in one day!! i started it at 6AM on the bus to work and i'm getting ready to publish at around 2AM, the next day. every now and then i get bit by a homestuck bug so ferocious that i have to do something big. this is very much in the spirit of Godfeels by SarahZedig, and was in fact inspired by a PgenPod episode that she hosted where someone mentioned wanting a fic about the carapacian couple that jade slept with and her wacky sexcapades. well.. here it is! it also managed to be about dave a lot, oops. i guess i'll never change. 
> 
> please enjoy this piece of progressive, queer jade meta i guess?? it's what the people seem to be into lately! and it's the first fic i have ever written that uses pesterchum formatting, or follows any coherent plot. There is some sexual content but i did not intend anything to be pornographic! kinda shocked i finished this.. lol gonna hate myself in the morning........ anyway! serious warnings can be found at the bottom if you don't mind spoilers. this fic handles some pretty heavy topics. reader discretion is encouraged, comments are appreciated and dropping a kudos would make my day! so without further ado... dog girls rise up! :3c

A thousand lifetimes ago, the only man you’d ever care for stood vigil above the fireplace and looked back at you with clever glass eyes. Women were blue; their hair was made of yarn, and they never moved while you were watching. Men were Grandpa. Other human beings smelled like formaldehyde and sometimes had stuffing poking out of their seams. Love, as far as you could tell, involved a whole lot of staring at each other over the tops of ceramic tea sets and sitting very, very still. Such matters did not interest you in the slightest. You were a young scientist, the princess of the golden city where you dreamed, a rockstar bassist in training and an expert gardener, and far too busy for any of that.

Well, that was then. Since, you’ve hopscotched across universes like so many puddles, knit timelines into tidy little rows and frogged them all out with a vengeance. You’ve lived, and unlived, probably hundreds of years if you tally up all the failed timelines, all the circling back, and after all that you’d like to think you’ve learned a thing or two. 

For instance, in all its mixed blessings and complicated lessons, sBurb saw you through your first kiss. Sure, you were kissing a corpse, and even freshly dead as he was, you remember Dave’s lips being distinctly cold and rubbery, but as first kisses go it wasn’t a disaster. At least it was dramatic. How many thirteen year old girls get to have their first kiss _and_ save the world at the same time? Dave told you later about how his first kiss went: the girl he always skipped P.E. with, the empty locker room, the smell of gym socks, how she made an excuse to leave right away after it was done. And she never talked to Dave again. You feel lucky that at least it wasn’t something terrible like that. And a corpse can’t call you a bad kisser.

The first time you kissed someone and got kissed back was also during the game. That was Davesprite, The Yellow Yard.

You’d like to think you’ve learned a lot since then, too.

For instance, this furry rave you’re currently attending. Personally, you can’t believe that your life has become a place that can include something like this, and you’re really glad. Before the game, you couldn’t have even imagined a foggy, day-glo basement full of club kids in various states of fursuit and undress, all rolling on MDMA and dancing like crazy. It happens the first Saturday of every month, and you’ve been three times before. You don’t even need to hide your ears like usual. Look at you, no kerchief, no sunhat, and people even give you compliments on your costume. The black light makes your white fur look lavender and strange. You flick your ears at the cute ones.

You are an alien observer, completely undercover -- that’s the fun part. You’re a child lying on her stomach, studying the aphids in your pumpkin patch. You’re a witchgirl who has shrunk herself to the size of a dust mite, killing time on a planet that has been shrunk to the size of a tennis ball, keeping quiet, trying to listen in on the ecosystem’s secrets. You’re a princess sneaking through lemon-colored streets, eavesdropping to try and decode the strange chittering language all your subjects speak. Fishnet, hi-ball, e-cig, techno. These people are so _cool_.

...And so unlike Dave that you have to laugh at the idea that you ever considered him the expert on what was cool. Back when “cool” was just a category of furniture in Animal Crossing, the stuff with the flames all over it. He’s still the coolest person you know, obviously, and of course one of your greatest friends. But this definitely isn’t his scene.

Maybe it could be yours.

Sex. It’s a behavior that you’re still gathering information on. Movies generally fade to black before the actual intercourse happens, or else use camera angles to keep things discreet. Porn never shows anything _other_ than the intercourse, which in your opinion might be even less informative. Isn’t sex, you wonder, supposed to be just one part of a relationship between two people? Why was it so cordoned off from the rest of the picture? In your opinion, movies would be better if there was no fadeout, if the characters did what they were obviously going to do anyway, and then the next plot point followed. Romeo and Juliet would be better if you could see exactly how Romeo used his fingers on Juliet, how she kissed him over each eyelid and gave him a blowjob. Then you’d be a lot less confused. You still aren’t clear on what the sex act _means_.

Animals have sex. They need to for reproductive purposes. You walk through your Ultimate Reward, its crowded streets, and roll the word around in your mind. Reproduction. Each face in the crowd is representative of a long, gnarled branch on an immense family tree, generations of beings with a two-person buffer between, stacked on top of each other, all the way down. Each life meant an untold thousand pairs of creatures who, for whatever reason, had at some point decided to have sex with each other, and whose progeny survived long enough to do the same. Every troll, human or consort you see carries a shadow image of their ancestors, looking sweaty and contorted into undignified positions.

Reproduction. The Sex Act. Family. Love. Science.

You’ve got a family, a neat, four-person unit, nuclear in composition, but not like that, not the way you’d assume. Nobody had to fall in love to continue your proud lineage. It’s less of a lineage, really, and more of a circle. Not a family tree so much as a family moebius double reacharound. Over dinner you peer at John from across the table, see vats of jelly the color of poison, and meteors. There are still a lot of things you have left to learn.

Under the blacklight, you’re just another face in the close, humid crowd. You can smell more than you can see. With Bec’s nose in your nose, your sense of smell is more of a second sight. If you concentrate you can map the trails of specific dancers as they move from the bathroom to the stage to the bar to the door, a manic tangle of threads, like spiders on LSD. There’s a whole bouquet of perfumes and body scents, B.O. and pot smoke, pheromones so thick they make your whole head feel hot and over-full with bloodrush.

You don’t remember ever feeling jealous, with the sun at your back and the mulch underneath you, watching the aphids chew through leaves. Did Darwin, on his Galapagos islands, ever feel jealous of his finches? Your drink cost twelve dollars and it’s called the Tentacle Bukakke-tail. You drain it right out of its plastic cup and let your tail swish behind you, hanging off the stool.

That night, you go home with a troll couple. Furry night really is the best. All the wonderful anthro freaks, too drunk to notice a real life dog-girl in their very midst. Still, you’re probably going to need to stop coming so often. Already regulars are recognizing you, people are saying hello.

The most important piece of information you’ve learned about sex is the importance of euphemism. It is, you have found, completely vital when in the field to only use the most oblique terms when referring to various sex things. Breasts absolutely must become “tits”. A vagina is a “cunt” or “pussy”. Dave has a variety of more creative monikers, which make you laugh. Coochie. Muff. Sausage sleeve. Scrambled eggs between the legs. And don’t even get him started on ways to say “penis”. Then there’s the act itself: going at it, making time, shagging, boinking, getting down, and most of all fucking. You were shocked when you learned what “fuck” really meant. You’d just filed it away as a curse word and tried not to say it much; Rose was the one who filled you in. Sex hides in plain sight. The obfuscation is part of the game. When you’re having sex, you can never, ever say what you really mean.

So when you say you “went home with them”, what you really mean is that you went home with them and had sex.

* * *

It all started because John texted you at the wrong time. It was the evening, after dinner, not very long after you had left the game. Your house was still in the process of becoming a home, and that particular night you were seated in your kitchen.

EB: hey jade! how's it going?  
GG: oh hi john!!  
GG: it's good to hear from you! im not up to much :$  
GG: just watching a movie

Really what you were watching was porn. You had your laptop open on the table and John’s message was vying for screen space with two heavily made-up humans kissing each other. Your eyes darted for a few moments between the two windows and you felt blood rush to your face. Then the scene cut to a mouth fitting itself around an erection that had previously been hidden by the camera angle, and you shut the tab in a hurry.

EB: oh sweet! which one?  
GG: uhh nothing too interesting  
GG: just whatever was on tv i guess :o

It’s not like you were ashamed to be watching porn. Masturbation is a natural behavior, one that has been observed in plenty of species besides humans, practically all of them. Even spiders. Pornography does not occur in nature. However it is still, on the whole, a normal thing to look at. And it isn’t as if you were touching yourself or anything. For crying out loud, you were fully clothed in your own home, sipping lemonade out of a glass with ice cubes in it.

And it isn’t like you’ve never masturbated before, either. You used to masturbate all the time, before the game. There was nothing better to do, nobody around to tell you why not to. You’d lie in bed for hours, just touching between your legs, amazed at all the unexpected folds and depressions you could find with your fingers, puzzled as to why running your fingers over certain places over and over was interesting enough to hold your attention for hours, but completely sure that it was a worthy use of time. After all, there had to be a reason why doing it felt so good. Back then, you’d just position yourself somewhere in front of a sunbeam, shut your eyes and keep going until you got sleepy or distracted or sore.

Well, what about your life hasn’t changed? By the time you were finished clearing your browser history, John had more messages waiting.

EB: are you watching cable television, jade?  
EB: for someone who has achieved nuclear fusion in a laboratory setting, you sure use the strangest tech.  
EB: you should check out roku! it's super convenient. you can install it yourself.  
EB: well, you could probably install a nasa jet rocket yourself.  
EB: but i could install it myself! that means it's easy.  
EB: jade? hello??  
EB: damn it! did you go to the bathroom or something?  
EB: i can't believe this. after all these years!  
EB: what does a guy have to do to get a "brb" around here?  
GG: sorry john!!!!! xc  
GG: i was just thinking..  
EB: oh, that's cool!  
EB: what are you thinking about?  
GG: ://  
GG: john..  
GG: can i ask you kind of a personal question?  
EB:oh, uh, sure you can!  
EB: i can't promise you that i'll have any good answers, but you know i'm always down to talk.  
GG: hmm  
GG: well ok  
GG: john have you ever had sex?  


After that, he didn’t reply for a while. At that point your face was absolutely saturated with blood. Your stomach felt like it was falling through the floor. You were certain, every bit as certain as you were that your Grandpa’s stuffed wife had murdered him in cold blood, exactly like how even though you know what really happened now, sometimes you still wake up afraid she’s going to kill you, too. That’s how certain you were that John knew exactly what you were looking at when he messaged. You spent an awful thirty seconds sure that John was going to call you out for watching porn like a weirdo before he finally responded.

EB: umm........ no.  
EB: i guess that's pretty weird at my age, huh?  
EB: but. no, i have never, uh.  
EB: done that.  
EB: why do you suddenly want to know, haha?  
GG: oh no reason!!  
GG: its just like i said  
GG: i have been thinking :u  
GG: and  
GG: ive never had sex either!  
GG: i didnt know that was weird  
GG: is that weird??  
EB: well, no.  
EB: i mean, i guess i totally did just say it was weird.  
EB: but there's no reason why it's weird, really!  
EB: some people never have sex for their whole entire lives.  
EB: like, nuns and stuff.   
GG: but what about people who arent nuns??   
EB: geez, i don't even know how to explain this stuff.  
EB: i guess nineteen isn't super old to still have your virginity.  
EB: some people lose it super young, too. 

A whole new wave of anxiety washes over you. You had assumed that John might know more about this kind of thing than you did, although for what reason in hindsight you’re not entirely sure. He’s never had a real relationship, not within the game and certainly not without. At least you had Davesprite.

But this whole idea about virginity was entirely new to you. Of course, people don’t start out having sex, or at least they really shouldn’t, and obviously there’s going to be a first time and probably a learning curve. But you had never considered the logistics, not even for a moment. You think about the video you were watching, how strange what they were doing really looked, at the end of the day, how abnormal and unfamiliar. And people did… _that_. People you _knew_ probably did that -- you couldn’t contain your audible gasp, couldn’t stop yourself from sending more messages to John.

GG: wait.....  
GG: does that mean other people have already lost their virginity??  
GG: other people like...  
GG: our friends????  
EB: well, duh.  
EB: rose and kanaya are dating, dude. they share a bed, like, every night.  
EB: you've seen the bed they share every night!  
GG: i guess thats true  
GG: what about dave?  
EB: dave is weird about that kind of thing.  
EB: he definitely isn't a virgin, though. no way, brosé.  
EB: all kinds of freaky shit went down on that meteor, no joke.  
EB: but who really knows what he gets up to, honestly.  
EB: now. is that all you needed to know?

Already, new neural pathways were being formed in your brain, new associations with the bed John had mentioned, which indeed you had been known to lounge and even nap on. Obviously you planned to continue your lounging, and it wasn’t like you thought it was gross that Rose and Kanaya had been doing that, there.

It just seemed so… so incredibly private. You kept thinking about the video, and then you started thinking about everything else you’d ever read, watched or heard about sex in general. None of it formed a coherent picture at all. Then, most horrible of all, you started to think about your friends _having sex_ , all scrunched up and red-faced and naked. It felt depraved.The reality of fluids and dirty talk and dildos, juxtaposed with Rose and Kanaya, holding hands and wrapped in a hand-knit afghan. It didn’t seem possible. Then you thought about Dave on the meteor. Who would he have had sex with? Gamzee? ...Karkat? No. It was probably Terezi. Terezi, that mysterious dream girl who you had only met once or twice, who you'd never really gotten to know. Whose name got brought up so much, who was missed so dearly, but who you only had the vaguest recollection of as a person. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed by an industrial pump. It was definitely not all you needed to know. But what you needed more than anything was to change the subject.

GG: um  
GG: yep thats it! thank you :3  
EB: oh okay.  
EB: sure, no problem. anytime!  
GG: omg john i just remembered!!!!!  
GG: i have to go water my cucumber seedlings!  
GG: they r totally gonna shrivel up and die if i wait a single minute longer!!!! :0  
GG: i must go! a gardeners work is never finished u__u  
EB: oh.  
EB: okay, cool?  
EB: i'll talk to you later, i guess?  
GG: yeah! later!

That night you went to bed early, still wearing your clothes. You hadn’t dared to undress yourself, hadn’t wanted to look at what has become of your body. There was another problem waiting under your clothes that would make everything worse, a problem that you could never talk to anyone about, not even John.

That night, like all other nights, you dreamt no dreams and woke up well rested. You never needed to nap in the daytime anymore.

* * *

Or maybe it started with Sal.

Sal approached you in a diner. In hindsight, you don’t blame him for doing so. You were probably looking awfully cute; you remember wearing your favorite bandana to cover your ears, bright yellow with little fruits printed all over. And a nice sundress, big aloha flowers and spaghetti straps.

At the time, you’d cottoned on to the fact that maybe people didn’t usually go out to eat by themselves, at least not at a sit-down restaurant. However, since arriving in society your greatest pleasure had been sitting by yourself at nice restaurants, ordering a big plateful of food, eating it all yourself and leaving a big fat tip. Sometimes the other tables full of people in groups cowed you, but not that night. That night, you were dining on sunny-side-up eggs and a stack of waffles, greasy sausage and hashbrowns piled high on the side.

It would be a long time until you learned about other reasons an attractive young lady might be eating at a table alone. Sometimes rich, lonely women would pretend to get stood up at a fancy restaurant, or just show up alone without any kind of apology and look as alluring as possible, to try and get a man to pay for her meal and take her home. Or else, for instance at a greasy diner like the one you were eating at, less classy women and sex workers might do the same. That wasn’t what you were doing, and you’re pretty sure that’s not even what Sal thought, but sure enough people do it, all the time. And you certainly looked very pretty. And you don’t eat out alone anymore.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked. 

You thought he was handsome, or rather he was very pretty, in a way that seemed effortless and masculine. Like how you always thought Dave was, so pretty he could almost be a girl. His skin was a few shades darker than yours, and his hair was curly and longish. Dark, but not the absolute #000000 black that your family shares. His was warm, brownish. He had on black jeans, white sneakers, a hooded sweatshirt with some kind of blazer on top. You shook your head “no” and he took the seat across from you, on the other side of your pancakes.

He seemed to expect you to say something, but you were still chewing, so after a moment he started talking himself. “Sorry, this probably seems really weird. I just…” He looked so pained for a moment that you wanted to laugh and tell him that he really shouldn’t be talking to _you_ about seeming weird to other people. You wanted to tell him not to worry, that he didn’t know the half of it. But your mouth was full of breakfast sausage, so you just widened your eyes and cocked your head, waited for him to continue.

“You’re eating alone. I’m just wondering why. ‘Cause…” He almost seemed ashamed to add the last part. 

“You’re really beautiful, y’know? Pretty girls shouldn’t sit all by themselves.”

At that point you did laugh, because your sausage was well on its way down your esophagus by the time he had finished speaking, and because you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “I don’t even know where to start with that!” You exclaimed. “I’m eating alone because I like to. And pretty girls can do exactly the same things anyone else can!”

You had half a mind to tell him to scram, except he was already looking wide-eyed and guilty. You figured there was no real reason to snap at him. And besides, you had never thought of yourself as pretty, and only tangentially as a girl. And his warm black hair looked very soft.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He said, and ran his hand over the back of his neck, telegraphing bashful submission like a dog licking its chops. 

“I guess what I really meant is that, you’re really pretty, and I don’t want you to sit alone because I’d rather be sitting next to you.” Then he tried for a smile and reached his arm out over the table. “I’m Sal. What’s your name?”

You reached out to meet him and shook his hand over the remains of your eggs, now a crayon-colored smear of yolk. “I’m Jade.”

He told you it was a pretty name. That was another thing you’d never heard before. The exact reasoning behind your enclave’s naming scheme has never been made clear to you, but it’s obvious that there’s some kind of pattern. Four letters exactly, and it has to start with the same letter as at least one of your genetic relations. Your name, like everything else about you, is simply a game construct.

Except while talking to Sal, you started to think about jade, the stone, huge slabs of it, its rich color and how so many cultures prized it for luck. You thought about jade the color, a deep green, how your eyes are also green. How maybe Sal noticed, if that’s what he thought was pretty, or maybe it was something else. You could feel your body shift its position in its red acrylic seat, your spine unconsciously forming itself into a shape that emphasized breasts, minimized any possible stomach chub. You felt yourself become a pretty girl when Sal looked at you, because he said so.

And so when he asked you to come home with him after picking up your tab, you agreed. You were so lonely, around then. Going into it, you knew that adjusting to life on Earth C would be difficult. You just assumed that the good things would make all the hard things worth it, and that it wouldn’t be hard for very long. But over a year had passed since you stepped through the gate and you were feeling the same amount of weird and confused, and lots more frustrated on top of that. You’d toyed with the idea of expanding your social horizons beyond just sBurb players, and here was the perfect opportunity, presenting itself with a ribbon wrapped around. And Sal was really nice.

He lived on the other end of town, and talk was light on the bus ride to his apartment. It was a long trip in the opposite direction of where you lived, but that was fine. You were warming to Sal, and had already begun to tease the possibility of having a new friend in your life. So what if his name wasn’t four letters -- three was close enough. Dave would like the way he dressed, their fashion sense looked kind of similar, and John would like his sense of humor.

Sal’s apartment was very small, but you didn’t mind. You sat on the mattress he kept on the floor in its only room and tried to look around without seeming nosy. There were posters on the walls, a guitar leaning against a bookshelf full of manga. Then he handed you a joint and put on a TV show, and you watched it propped up against some pillows with your shoulders touching.

The thing was, it had been so long since anyone had really touched you. Of course John was always hugging you, but never for very long, and of course Rose and Kanaya, and even Jane, liked to hug hello and goodbye. Karkat was a very physical person, always grabbing your shoulder to give you a good shake or else coming right up to your chest and pointing his finger there. And Dave, well. Dave never touched anyone, so obviously he didn’t touch you. Who you really missed was Bec. How it felt to cuddle up against his side and go to sleep, his big soft body surrounding you, keeping you safe. It felt kind of like smoking weed on the mattress with Sal. That long, solid plane of warmth, keeping you corralled.

He put his arm around your shoulder, and you leaned in. A year and change was enough time for you to learn that reckless physicality wasn’t something that could be practiced among society. There are boundaries and there are rules, and you had better follow them if you want to keep doing the right thing. These rules were all unspoken, and some varied from person to person. For instance, there was John, and then there was Dave. With John, you could hug him, put your arm around him, wrestle him to the ground for all he cared, but with Dave, if you even lay one finger on him without making a big show of it, things would turn sour quickly. So maybe you can be clueless sometimes. You’ve at least picked up on that sort of thing by now.

You hadn’t learned, though, about the more subtle boundaries. Maybe you’d mapped the militantly guarded national borders, but not the scrubgrass-and-tumbleweed state lines.And what about the lines in the sand? Or, what were the rules when everything was touching, when things were inside of other things and no real physical boundary remained at all. You leaned in to his warm, solid, side, and at the end of the episode Sal turned and kissed you on the lips. It was then that you realized there were more kinds of kissing than just _kissing someone_ and _kissing someone who is also alive_.

When you kissed Davesprite in the Yellow Yard, your tongues never really touched. Well, maybe they did once or twice. Mostly either his mouth was open or yours was; the two of you were very polite, or maybe you were nervous. You took turns moving your lips, and never went for more than ten minutes without stopping, always with no form of continuation. You had to keep your eyes shut tight, because at that proximity, under those circumstances, the glow from Davesprite’s face was luminous and even through your eyelids it would sometimes burn.

Dave and Davesprite are different in many, many ways, but they were exactly the same when it came to that touching thing. So with Davesprite you’d sit, usually on the floor or on a couch, and crane your necks until your lips met like a pair of swans. Always he seemed to be mouthing words against your mouth that you couldn’t understand. Always you tried to do just what he did, and to keep an open mind. You tried to be scientific.

On the mattress with Sal, you’re acutely aware that science is happening. When he kisses you, your ears twitch so hard that you feel your bandana shift. Immediately your knowledge about hormones, pheromones, which gland squirts what chemical when one body reacts with another, all your facts get rattled into a new context. That was your last real thought, about pheromones and how you could smell his, other than the one you spared for your conversation with John a few months earlier, how you never expected it to happen to you, this loss of virginity, but how against all odds it seemed as if it just might.

You found that you enjoyed kissing Sal. When you gave in to instinct and moved your lips exactly the way you wanted to, you discovered that he actually seemed to appreciate it, kissed you harder, right into the pillows. It was incredible how each act, which you’d seen rehearsed countless times over the course of your life, shed its alien inaccessibility and at once became familiar, natural. The frantic removal of shirts and dresses. The stroking of each other’s limbs and skin. Where you wanted to kiss on Sal’s body, where you liked to be kissed. Sal got his mouth on your nipple and you found that you _really_ enjoyed that, so much that you thought to yourself, if you could have someone do this for hours, just kiss you all over, you would, you’d do this forever.

It was great right up until the part when he put his hand down the front of your panties. Then all at once, how you weren’t the entire time you’d been kissing him, you pictured Sal’s face if he only knew what was right underneath his hand. If he saw you without the bandana over your hair. If he knew what you actually were.

Then you’re back in your living room, wearing just your socks and panties. Since the start of your integration into society, you’d been trying not to use your Space powers too much, but sometimes it’s hard to control. You sat down on the floor and felt the cold tile against your buttcheeks. You decided that, yeah, you were probably still a virgin.

* * *

GG: hey rose??  
GG: can i talk to you about something :0  
TT: Of course you can, Jade.  
TT: I should hope that at this point you're well aware that the pair of ears which so delicately bracket my skull are always ready and willing to hear what you have to say.  
TT: What's on your mind?  
GG: haha  
GG: well i dont really know how to put this  
GG: but....

It had been some months since the thing with Sal happened. You hadn’t seen him since then, and whether that was because it’s a big city and he was a stranger before that night or because you’ve been keeping it extra safe, staying indoors and away from that end of town and especially that diner, is a question that you were not going to leave up to chance.

On the other hand, what happened had made you realize that you couldn’t keep feeling this way about your own body. For better or for worse, you can’t keep keeping this whole huge stupid fucking… secret! Maybe it isn’t a big deal. Maybe… not everyone will judge you so harshly.

Yeah, right. But there is one person you know of who absolutely will not judge aberrant genital configurations, and that’s Rose. She’s always who you’d go to when you were super confused and needed advice, and you definitely needed some advice. Still, you have to think very carefully before you send anything.

TT: Well, don't tease me, now.  
TT: If it was your intention to induce hot flashes in me, reminiscent of Liz Lemon in the throes of menopause, in anticipation of whatever it is you have to share, then by all means you have succeeded.  
TT: My gossip gland is absolutely numb from how you've set it tingling.  
TT: Do go on.  
GG: rose!!!!  
GG: im about to tell you something that im really ashamed about...  
GG: i already feel super embarrassed! d:  
GG: could you maybe tone down the sarcasm  
GG: i really cant rn x(  
GG: but im going to go crazy if i dont do something about this  
GG: but i dont know what to do!!!  
TT: I'm sorry.  
TT: If I had known there was something seriously the matter I wouldn't have spoken to you that way.  
TT: What happened?  
TT: I'll do my best to help you through it. 

Sat at the computer, staring down the screen, your ears were pressed flat against your head. The feeling of them swiveling on your skull, the smell of your own anxiety spiking the air, all of it, made you want to scream.

GG: ok so  
GG: you know how when i merged with jadesprite  
GG: i got my super cute doggy ears and tail??  
TT: Yes, I do.  
TT: And I thank the fates each day that you did, because your ears are wonderfully soft and very nice to scratch.  
GG: oh uh  
GG: thank you rose!  
GG: thats very sweet :3  
GG: well anyway  
GG: a bunch of other stuff changed too  
GG: when that happened  
GG: like my hearing got a lot better, and my sense of smell changed  
GG: and of course lets not forget the power of the green sun!!  
GG: plus all of jadesprites memories and sburb information  
GG: oh man :/ i guess thats a lot of things that changed  
GG: but there's one thing in particular....  
TT: Yes?  
GG:rose……  
GG: its my.......  
GG: oh my godd x,p  
GG: rose its my junk!!!!!  
TT: Your junk.  
GG: well i would call it by the right name but im not entirely sure what category it fits into anymore :/  
GG: like im not sure if i should say "penis" or "vagina"  
GG: because.......  
GG: oh rose its really neither of those things :(((  
TT: I see.  
TT: Well, that isn’t the end of the world, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed.  
TT: Jade, I cannot imagine the kind of hardship that this has been causing you and I'm glad that you told me. Indeed, I am honored that you would trust me with this information, as well am I glad that you no longer need to feel like this is a secret you must keep.  
TT: While I was not aware of the extent to which you’ve changed biologically after merging with Jadesprite,  
TT: For instance, I was not aware that you had experienced any changes in your sense of smell, and I have more questions for you about that to be asked at a later date,  
TT: Something like this occurring was never outside of the realm of possibility, and I am in no way shocked by your confiding this in me.  
TT: The game has never been very fair, or considerate.  
TT: Things must always be drawn to their logical conclusions, however cruel those conclusions may be.  
TT: Oh, Jade. I'm so sorry.  
TT: I don't mean to sound as if your body is something that needs to be apologized for.  
TT: But I am sorry that sBurb has harmed you in this way.  
TT: Jade? Let me know if you’re still there.  
GG: yeah im still here  
GG: thank you rose  
GG: youre a good friend u__u  
GG: i just  
GG: i dont know what i should do!  
GG: how do i explain something like that  
GG: you know like..  
GG: if i wanna be with somebody??  
TT: Something like this does not have to be a hindrance when it comes to your relationships.  
GG: rose you really dont understand  
GG: it looks WEIRD!!!!!!  
GG: it looks really really really weird!!!!!!!  
GG: and there isnt any way to hide it  
GG: not like with my ears or my tail  
GG: you dont get it rose you just dont get it!!  
GG: im a freak :(((((((  
GG: how the hell am i supposed to fit in on this STUPID PLANET when i have my beloved dead dogs PENIS between my LEGS?????  
TT: Believe me when I tell you that having a dog’s penis between your legs is not something that can keep you from finding your place in this world.  
TT: Or from being with somebody, or from living a full, happy life.  
TT: As for the issue of which dog's dick in particular you find sharing real estate in your undergarments, Well.  
TT: That is something, I suppose, that you will simply have to learn to live with.  
TT: We've all been mutilated, to some extent, by what we went through.  
TT: We all have our sick jokes which we must rise every morning and laugh at, as it were.  
TT: I want you to know that there's no reason to be ashamed.  
GG: oh rose  
GG: i met this guy  
GG: his name was sal  
GG: and... he was super nice to me!!!!!  
GG: he was so nice  
GG: and honestly very handsome :T  
GG: so we met in this diner that i like to eat at and then we went back to his apartment  
GG: his apartment was super cool……  
GG: and everything was going great!  
GG: i really liked him and everything!!  
GG: but then i started thinking....  
GG: well i started thinking that he definitely wouldnt like it if he knew i had a doggy dick :(((  
GG: ughhhhh why is there no better way to say it x(((  
TT: You can just call it a doggy dick. I don't mind.  
GG: rose you dont understand  
GG: you SERIOUSLY do NOT understand  
GG: how absolutely not sexy this thing is!!!!!!!  
GG: it looks like when dogs get a red rocket  
GG: like a hot dog X0000000  
GG: usually you just whack the dog with a newspaper or really whatevers around and then he goes back to being a friendly happy adorable dog  
GG: but obviously its different...  
GG: because its my red rocket.. and im not a friendly happy adorable dog  
GG: i am a dog girl and i am in crisis!! x(  
TT: Well, I think that being forthright from now on would be your best chance at feeling a little better about all this.  
TT: That isn't to say that you should order T-shirts reading Ask Me About My Knot. Although if you ever feel the need to, please put in an order for me as well.  
TT: But you don't need to feel like this isn't something you can tell people.  
TT: Game players will all understand. And others might not mind as much as you think.  
TT: Might I remind you that we live in a mixed society of many different species, all of whom come together in many different pairings and configurations in the act of lovemaking.  
TT: I would also like to point out that the vast, teeming Tartarus of sentient sexuality has birthed fetishes and kinks that would sear the hair off of your adorable puppy ears.  
TT: The ears and a tail of a domesticated animal on the body a human female is a relatively mild and well-established example thereof.  
TT: Human females with penises are also absolutely not abnormal, and a great many of them find loving partners and live idyllic lives.  
GG: :T  
GG: you know what rose?  
GG: youre right  
GG: jeez!! x0  
GG: am i ever glad i talked to you :D  
TT: I'm glad you talked to me as well, Jade.  
TT: Will I still be seeing you for brunch on Thursday?  
GG: hehehehehe  
GG: of course you will!  
GG: i wouldnt miss it for the world :)  
TT: And Jade?  
TT: Don’t go home with random men, please.  
TT: I worry about you.  
GG: hehehe  
GG: i dont think you really need to worry  
GG: i really cant see myself ever doing anything like that again :/ 

* * *

That night, you didn’t touch yourself at all, though in the following weeks you would, with increasing inspiration and frequency. But that night, under your blankets, listening to the rainforest noises coming out of your CD player, watching the disco ball you kept in your room track rainbows across the ceiling, you concentrated on feeling _everything_ between your legs. Like how sometimes you would during meditation, shifting awareness from hand to foot to head to chest, you let your awareness focus right there, where your torso ends and your legs begin. Keeping perfectly still and making sure your breath was even, you made yourself aware, really, of what was down there, so easily hidden in your long, curly pubic hair but at other times impossible to ignore. You used your Space powers, tested very carefully all of its dimensions, dusted off your creaky feeble magic and probed your organ’s miniscule empty Spaces. Its tubes and cavities. You made a map. You readied yourself to learn.

* * *

Since then, you’ve been getting it when you can get it. Sex, as it turns out, is amazing, and even if the learning curve is incredibly steep, at least you have fun climbing it. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes you think about Sal, the brownish-blackish hair at the nape of his neck and how his long brown fingers had looked, swiping through it. Then you feel kinda bad.

So you have sex with human boys and they even put their penises in your vagina, a reproductive tradition as old as mammalian life, while your red rocket sort of hangs out above. You have sex with human girls, too, way more of those because girls are usually pretty beautiful and guys have to catch you in the right mood. You go home with troll boys and girls, and all sorts of trolls and humans who aren’t boys or girls, and adventurous carapacians, and multiple human boys, or maybe a troll girl and a human girl, or six human boys and one carapacian who is having the absolute best night of her life. You attend furry orgies that post advertisements online and have an absolute blast. Every time you walk onto the scene of some new sexcapade you feel like Darwin stepping off of the Beagle and onto whatever Micronesian island awaits him, his closed-toed European shoes nudging at a completely new and unique ecosystem, just waiting to be discovered.

What’s most interesting to you about these encounters is the way people change when they have their clothes off. The inexplicable way that sex has been scooped out of what culture appears to be, airlifted clean away and transplanted somewhere no one can look at it -- the way that all the sex scenes are surgically removed from the movies and transplanted onto porn sites with a lower production value, so you’ve realized how people tend to focus all the parts of themselves they’d like to hide in their sex lives. The sensitive butch you meet at a poetry reading is suddenly slapping you across the face, spitting in your mouth while you growl. The seven and a half foot tall violet wants fingers through his gills and a mean heel ground into his crotch. Who would have guessed? Sometimes people are exactly how you expect them to be, but it’s very rare, so much so that finding out a person likes exactly what they seem to like in bed is just as interesting a discovery as any.

It’s like a different kind of handshake. You can see that, now. How people are so vividly themselves when in the middle of the sex act. How during sex, everyone also acts, with degrees of variation, pretty much the same. Bucking and groaning, sweating and squirming. But you’ve also experienced the most unexpected tenderness, during your little flings. When your tongue is up inside of someone, or else their penis is inside of you, or yours is in them, it’s you’re like saying, Hi! Nice to meet you! It’s businesslike, ritualistic, in some ways formal, and in other ways deeply personal, intimate in a way that characterizes the very act itself. During sex, you’ve looked at so many people, so many humans and trolls, aliens of all kinds, and thought to yourself, how beautiful. How amazing. You see all of the reproduction that has happened just so that your partner could be here to fuck you at all. You see a little bit of the miracle of life, of why people live so close to one another. It’s so maybe sometimes they’ll touch.

Rose has been very supportive, and she and Kanaya even chaperoned you to the triple-x store, before you got brave enough to go yourself. Now you’re even friends with the cashier. Dave and Karkat give you endless shit for having real life gay furry sex, but what else do you keep them around for. John was bewildered by the sudden appearance of your busy sex life, complete with trimmings, but it’s a supportive kind of bewildered. You know he feels kind of sore about “still being a virgin”, and as silly as you know he’s being and how much you wish he didn’t care so much, it does make you feel kind of guilty. Darwin must have gotten lonely sometimes, you think, camped out in the Galapagos with nobody but birds to talk to. Sometimes you keep being friends with people you’ve slept with. In fact, that’s how you met a few of your new Earth C friends, but not all of them, not by a long shot. Mostly you’re one and done. Any longer than one night would risk raising questions about the origin of your cute puppy ears, your unique configuration downstairs, things which in the moment might be arousing, might even be a pleasant surprise, but which are such a pain to live with every single day.

Dave gives you shit about this, too. He calls you a casanova, a player. Hide your girlfriend _and_ your boyfriend, he drawls at you through a mouthful of popcorn, and hell, make sure you keep a close eye on Fido, too. Miss Harley don’t care, it ain’t no thing. She’ll make sweet love to the betta fish you keep in a bowl on the table if you give her half a chance.

And you hold your tongue before you say something about the meteor, the crazy Faygo orgies they all probably had. John was right when he said Dave was weird about sex, and Karkat is so extreme and uptight that he’s really no better. You sometimes think about Terezi, how much Dave loved her, and Karkat, too. It makes you feel nauseous, kinda, how jealous you get about that. You kind of hate Terezi. How easy, it seems to you, to just wander off into Paradox Space, to never be heard from again, and to be loved forever. Terezi doesn’t have to sit between Dave and Karkat and smell what happens in their bloodstreams when their hands brush in the popcorn bowl.

Something else that nags at you. You’ve had so many different partners at this point, tried so many different things, and yet it all just comes back to one thing, no matter what. One place: the Yellow Yard. Out of all your memories, unbelievable wonders you’ve experienced for the first time since you received your Reward, a whole cache of idyllic childhood memories, wildflower fields and babbling brooks to draw from if you ever need something really nice to think about, but it’s those three years, the ones you weren’t even allowed to keep, that always seem to weigh you down.

You couldn’t have kissed him more than ten times. You certainly didn’t kiss him any two days in a row, and sometimes a week or a month would pass and all Davesprite would do was wave at you from across the room. He’d float at your side, just close enough that his orange glow made your Witch dress go all Halloween. Just close enough so you could feel how he was warm. But never, ever in a million years closer. It was like he was encased somewhere far away, and you couldn’t reach him, even if you really just wanted to help, even if you liked him so much it made you feel sick.

And when your tongues touched (once or twice, by accident, just a brush), you could imagine that he wasn’t so untouchable. Even if he looked like an angel from cheeto planet and making him smile could take a day or more of hard labor, even if he got so sad sometimes you kind of just wanted to take him out back and shoot him, or maybe yourself, anything to make him stop being that way. There. There was the wet muscle that formed all of his words. There was his tongue, perhaps like a sponge, soaking up all the words he never said at all. You have a lot of regrets, and one of them is that you didn’t kiss him any deeper. If only you’d known.

* * *

You never really ended up talking to Roxy during the game. Like Terezi, or Sollux, or Dirk, and so many others, when everything was happening, Roxy was, to you, just another thread weaving crazily through the riptide plot that you'd all found yourselves swept up in. Your brain already feels full to capacity with all the strange coincidences, unexpected follow-throughs and clever twists of fate, that make up your winding story. It makes your head hurt when you think about how you still only know a very tiny piece of the whole plot. Everyone who died, everything that's still moving, somewhere, in slow motion. It makes you so tired you can’t even describe it. You’re just glad that you aren’t a part of the story anymore. That the story, even if it’s continuing somewhere you can’t see, has given you a chance to do something, _anything_ else.

Like Roxy! It turns out they’re super fun to talk to. The extravagant dinner at Jane’s estate went dramatically awry, who could have guessed, and it was because of a screaming match between Dirk and Jake, what a shock. The two of you have found yourselves holed up in a rumpus room, holding drinks and listening to music while Jane frets to Rose on the other side of the wall.

“It’s so sad to watch them fight!” You do a swivel on your chair -- it’s a fantastically comfortable office chair, real cherry red leather, and it spins and dips like it’s mounted on a spring. “Dirk and Jake, I mean.”

“Man, tell me about it.” Says Roxy. You’re drinking beer, but they’ve opted for a Red Bull, and they sip it lackadaisically through a crazy straw while you fidget.

“Obviously I can’t.” You say, spinning back towards them. “I mean, I hardly know either of them! Or, I mean, I know things about both of them, but I don’t really know them, y’know. As people. And their relationship history… Whatever went down with Jane?” You grab your beer and take a sound gulp from it. “I don’t even wanna know. I doubt anyone would give me a straight story, anyway.”

Roxy is looking at you like they’re listening, so you go on. “It just sucks, ‘cuz.... I can see how much they love each other. They, like, need each other. Pathologically!” At that, Roxy laughs.

“Yeah, they sure do.” Roxy sighs. 

“Those two boys have given me more headaches than I can count, you had best believe. I don’t know if I even want them to get their shit straight anymore.” They give a heavy shrug. “But you’re right. They do need each other. Pathologically.”

The song switches, and both of you can hear Jane start a whimpering cry in the next room over. You weren’t in the room for what happened, but you saw Dirk storming off. He looked like a chip of ice. He moved like a glacier. He gave off frigid vibes so raw you could hang ten on them, if you were Frozone. And you’ve gleaned that Jake might have said some unkind things about Jane.

“I kind of wish someone needed me like that, maybe.” You hear yourself say. It’s true, but it might not be sensitive. Before you can start to backpedal, though, Roxy laughs again, and you find yourself thinking that actually, hey, Roxy might be really fucking cool.

“God, me fuckin’ too. I know I shouldn’t feel jealous about their weird, twisted man-romance, but sometimes I really fuckin’ do. I wish anyone in the whole goddamn universe gave as much of a shit about me as those two give a shit about each other.” They smile ruefully, and when they do, their face creases up and they look just like Dirk. Just like Dave.

“It _is_ such a man-romance, though!” You say, and before you know it you’re giggling. 

“If someone was gonna be that obsessed with me, god fucking help me if it’s a, a _man_! That's just a horror movie, isn't it?”

Now Roxy’s guffawing and you are, too. “This is the shit I’ve been saying, yo! And they're _both_ men. It's a double-whammy. Man, if there was just one fuckin’ milliliter less testosterone between those two assholes, we’d have another Rose and Kanaya type situation and nobody would be flipping over the mashed potatoes!”

“Ohmigawd, is that really what happened?”

You’re laughing so hard that you feel your diaphragm starting to cramp up. You can’t stop the fancy office chair from swinging you all over the place, which only makes you laugh harder. “I was literally in the bathroom when everything, like, happened. I was _peeing!_ ”

“Yeah, and you’re lucky you were! Man, did you not notice I had to take off my cardigan?” 

You did notice, or rather you noticed their cardigan when they showed up wearing it, and they’re certainly not wearing it anymore. It was an excellent article of clothing, pink and purple and blue with 60s deco flowers knit into the sleeves. “That shit ran me back forty fucking dollars. It was vintage, mint condition. And then English has to go throw a shit-fit like a little diaper-baby and shower all my digs in mashed potatoes!”

You fall down off the chair and, lying on the floor, gaze up at Roxy with your legs kicked high. Their hair looks like a halo around their face, curly and bright white. “Hey,” you say. “When did you cut your hair?”

“Oh, this?” Roxy shrugs, runs a hand through their cropped poof. “Like a month ago. But I don’t think we've saw each other since.”

“It looks really nice.” You say, and then you stop talking so you can look more. Roxy’s looking back at you. Their eyes are the color of watermelons, are so extremely warm when they meet yours. Then you sniff the air, and a few previously uncorrelated facts slide into place. Your heart travels to your throat, but you suppose you did have a lot of wine at dinner and besides there was something else you’d been meaning to ask.

“How about your boobs?” You can’t even get through half the question without breaking into another fit of giggles. Then you make an attempt to get serious. When your voice returns, it is considerably more grave. 

“Your _tits_ , RoLal.” The words are long in your mouth. You roll them on your tongue, will them not to sound crude. “They’re gone, aren’t they? Where’d they go?”

Roxy’s eyebrows shoot up into their fluffy little bangs, really so adorable, and they shift slightly, as if reaffirming that their breasts are, indeed, absent from their usual place. “Oh, that.” A grin spreads across their face, unmistakably a flash of pride. You smile back. “Yeah, I Voided that shit to kingdom fucking come. They’re a thing of the past. Won’t be hearing from those bitches any time soon.”

You do a happy little squirm on the floor and clap your hands together, maybe squeal a bit. “Roxy! That is so so so amazing!!!”

“Aw, thanks, J-Harles. I’ll admit, it was a pretty ace maneuver.” Roxy’s smiling even bigger now. They look like Dave, kind of, not really. Darker complected, to be sure, taller, and narrow like a whip. Thin and elegant in a way that Dave, as skinny as he is, never fully embodies. Dave’s tiny and frail, or that’s how you’ve come to think of him. Roxy is… powerful. Confident. And so much fun. But the real difference between Roxy and Dave is the huge, toothy smile that splits their face. It’s a really pretty smile, even if it makes you kind of sad.

Roxy’s still talking. “Y’know, it feels really good to tell people about my whole gender journey, and to have them… Fuck, who would have known? Actually be supportive? I dunno, I guess I wasn’t _not_ expecting my friends and family to support me, but…”

Abruptly you shoot up from the floor, your ears and tail both straining towards the sky. “Roxy.” You breathe. “I understand.”

“Really?” They say. You notice how one of their eyebrows darts up towards their hairline, how the other stays put.

“Roxy.” You say, with extreme gravity. “I have a doggy dick.”

They spit out a whole mouthful of energy drink laughing. You sit there watching them lose their mind (Is it really necessary for them to slap their thigh like that? You were trying to be serious!) until eventually they gather themself and turn back towards you to speak.

“I’m sorry, maybe that wasn’t the most sensitive way to react.”

“Fuck sensitive!” You immediately interject. "We're all friends here." Your face is hot, and you hope they don't notice.

“Uh, right on.” They reply. “It’s just. The way you said it, man. You’re looking at me like you’re telling me you read the 28 pages from the 9/11 investigation!” They start to laugh again, and this time you join in. “And, I mean. That’s awesome news! I love that for you, Jade. Of course you have a fucking dog dick, how could you possibly get any cooler.”

“I also have a vagina.” You add thoughtfully. “I have both.”

Roxy just raises their eyebrows.

Well, here goes nothing. You ready your observational tools, your microscope and your binoculars. You don’t think for very long about what it might mean to do something like this with someone whose life is inextricably linked with yours -- at the moment, all you see is Roxy’s miraculous tourmaline eyes, and all you really smell is the chemicals that their brain squirts out when they look at you.

“Roxy, I think I want to have sex with you.” You say. Your tone is serious as a heart attack. You could be informing the owner of an orphanage that the whole orphanage burned down. You could be talking to the long-lost parents of a certain orphan, and you could be telling them that yes, their son had indeed been located, but unfortunately he had died when the orphanage burned down. Roxy laughs again, then their eyes change and they look at you askance.

“Okay, are you totally soused right now?” They ask, crossing their arms, drawing back.

“No!” You shake your head so hard your hair fwips in an arc. Really, you’re not. Definitely not enough to where you’d do anything that was _seriously_ against your interests. Roxy is seriously beautiful, and seriously great to hang out with. And, their body is like yours. Not quite one thing or the other. They understand. “I’m serious, I’m not even super drunk!” You frown. “I’m just… silly. Like, I know I’m spinning in circles and rolling around on the floor. But that’s how I always act! I’d still want to have sex with you if I hadn’t drank any alcohol tonight. Scout’s honor!”

You get distracted watching Roxy’s immaculate white eyebrows creep higher and higher up their smooth, polished cherrywood forehead. Eventually they let out a low whistle and shake their head.

“Well, there’s definitely rooms to spare in this grotesque McMansion. Wanna find the one with the biggest bed?” They extend their hand to you and you take it, grinning so hard you know your canines are probably showing. You don't care. You bare your teeth. Roxy knows what your fangs mean, who died so you could receive them. You want to touch them so badly. You can’t stop thinking about their smooth, flat chest, and their black lipstick.

The room you find is on the top floor, situated in a derelict corner of the building that you cheated and used Space powers to access. And throughout the whole event, cunnilingus and intercourse and licking and all, you don’t ever stop feeling like Roxy is your friend. Which is good, because you were not ruling out that possibility. Scientific discovery often requires a measure of risk, however, and sex with Roxy is just as fun as drinking beverages with Roxy. It helps that in flagrante delicto, Roxy is exactly as playful and funny as they always are. They're constantly giggling about the funny noises your bodies make. They don't stop talking, but nothing they say sounds like a lie. And they're pretty all over, you learn, extremely pretty, completely gorgeous. You really never realized Rose's mom was such a hottie.

But even though you and Roxy start hanging out way more often after that, you never have sex with them again. It's not that it wasn't fun. It isn't like you still don't find them beautiful. It’s because the whole time, you couldn’t stop thinking about Dave.

Or maybe not. Maybe who you were actually thinking about wasn't the Dave who is your friend in the present tense, but actually just Davesprite, all along. Maybe you're jealous of Karkat. Maybe you're jealous of Terezi. Is it possible to be jealous of yourself? You saw Roxy, so beautiful and so much like Dave, and it felt like a hot knife through your heart.

There’s more to those feelings. Years of careful observation has taught you that nothing is to be trusted, that every question has more questions underneath. Even things you think are true for your entire life. Even secret gut feelings and stubborn emotions that refuse to resolve. You are an intrepid explorer, and no frontier will be left unconquered.

* * *

Dave and Karkat are your best guy-friends ever, and there will never be any doubt cast on that matter, but lately, being around them is _insufferable._

So, you have anger issues. So you’re not a very patient person! You’re a girl of action, and how you act when you're angry is the part of yourself that you hate the most, thank you very much. Usually, you’re very good. Even if on the inside you feel like a restless dog and more than anything what you want is to pace and gnash and howl, it is your greatest comfort in life that most people will look at you and all they’ll see is a quirky little girl. Your big glasses, long hair and crooked smiles are the your saving grace. They're all you need to pretend as if you’re not still half-feral, after all these years. In public, a hat and tail-tuck will help as well, and you imagine your long eyelashes don’t hurt things either.

This is a trick that works without fail, even on the people who know you best. That, too, is something you are grateful for. Sometimes you remember flashes of how it was when you were Grimbark, how terrible and amazing it all felt, how scared you are of becoming that again. You even have healthy ways to let out your aggression now; the BDSM subculture, for obvious reasons, is the number one place where a wayward dog girl can find allies. You’ve been very active in that community since way back when your sex life very first started to gain speed, and sure enough, you’ve noticed yourself feeling a lot less constant, directionless anger since then, too.

But that isn’t to say that your friends can’t tell when you’re annoyed. And you’ve watched this scene play out for so long that you can’t be patient anymore, or feel bad that neither of them can grow the fuck up and have a conversation. Now whenever you have to look at Dave and Karkat lost in conversation with each other, when you have to watch them pull their heads apart like they’ve been burned when they realize you’re in the room, it just makes you mad. Gone are the mushy-gushy feelings and so is any of the _will-they-or-won’t-they_ excitement you mustered at first. The weird, distorted jealousy is still there, except it’s bigger than the other two feelings combined and at this point has gained a knife-edge.

And movie night is still every Tuesday.

This week, you sat through Paul Blart parts one and two with just Dave and Karkat, and you even managed to have a pretty good time. You all were passing around Dave’s new bong, and given that the thing’s a foot tall by the time you were on the sequel everyone was giggling and zoning out, which helped some.

You’re reclining on the couch, and Dave is in the loveseat with his feet kicked up. Karkat is in the kitchen doing, something, you can’t really tell, only he’s making an awful lot of noise. You’re watching Dave, catalogueing how he sits when he’s at ease, when the light goes off from down the hall and Karkat steps back into the white television glow.

He’s carrying two poptarts wrapped in a paper towel, and on his way back to the couch he wordlessly hands Dave one of the poptarts and brushes Dave’s hair out of his face. It’s just one motion: his clawed hand, strangely delicate in the powder light, on its way back up from the arm of the loveseat. It catches Dave’s cheek and forehead, so gentle, the way his fingers brush Dave's bangs, that it makes your teeth hurt. Dave looks up at him and it’s that sad, faraway look, that encased-in-amber, ancient, dusty sadness, a thousand yard stare with cobwebs hanging off.

Then Karkat continues across the room and settles in the corner of the couch. He crosses his legs at the knee, lets you take up two cushions in your sprawl. Immediately you feel your blood boil. You want to growl. He’s seated as far away from Dave as he can possibly get -- how much more fucked could this be? And you’re right between the two of them.

The next installment of Paul Blart saga plays on the screen. Who knew they made a third one? Maybe Paul Blart’s house is gonna get foreclosed on. Maybe Paul Blart’s mom is gonna die. You hope she does, and all his friends, too. You take furious rips of the bong to steady your breath, then collapse back onto the couch, right into Karkat’s side.

You feel like a beast. Usually when you’re this wild, a hug will do the trick to calm you down. But Karkat is the one who made you this mad in the first place, and asking him for a hug feels like it would be wrong.

But maybe it’s not really Karkat who made you angry, this time. Aren’t you really mad at Dave? Or are you still, still, _still_ just hung up on Davesprite, that stupid feathery pixelboy, just a blurry figment from one of the lifetimes you had to leave behind. Maybe you’re just angry because you’re a bad friend, you're too impatient, not understanding enough. If only you could just _understand_.

You don’t know what possesses you to lean over and kiss Karkat. An important thing to understand about the sex act is that it is a violent thing in nature. It’s a raw expression of emotion. It's what people do when they can't do anything else. It feels like hitting out with your fist, like reacting, making something happen. Now glands will start to spray chemicals into the air and the boundaries will chip away a little. Now something’s gonna _happen_ , already.

Karkat’s mouth is corpse-quiet against yours, but you feel like you owe it to the act to move your lips a little bit, at least try and get some passion in there. Paul Blart is riding his scooter and falling over. It really never gets old.

You only pull away when you hear the clatter of Dave bolting from his seat and the front door slamming. Then you draw back, panting raggedly, the tips of your ears practically touching your neck. With your lips peeled back, you can only imagine what a monster you must look like.

Then, to your horror, you start to cry. Everything you just did falls down on your head with a big crack. You start making little bawling whimpers, like a kicked puppydog. “I’m sorry.” You choke. “I’m so sorry, Karkat. I don’t know why I did that.”

Karkat is silent. You can’t bear to look at him so you don’t know how he’s reacting. Your shoulders, tail, ears, everything turns inwards. Your muscles are shaking with the effort of making yourself small. You wish you could just disappear, take back the last thirty seconds, maybe take back a lot more things, too, everything.  
Like a balloon inside of you deflating, you feel a great sag of relief when Karkat breaks the silence.

“Jade.” He says, and his chainscrape of a voice is exactly the same as it always is. That makes you let out another little sob, of gratitude, that he hasn’t suddenly changed into something scary like you seem to have done. “You gotta let me know what the fuck that was about.”

Just a little, you open your eyes. He’s looking at you with his broad, earnest face, kinda homely but when it’s like this, it's the warmest and most understanding face in the world. He looks concerned, too, and his eyes keep darting to the door. Then you know what you have to do.

“Karkat, do you know where Dave went?” You ask.

Karkat looks at you and lets out a whoosh of breath that flutters his bangs. “Okay, fine, postpone our heart-to-heart. I’m used to being second fiddle.”

That snaps you back to yourself a little. You level an eye at him. “I’ll talk to you about this later. I promise. And-- I’m super sorry I kissed you. I mean it."

Karkat actually has the nerve to look bashful. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Yeah, we’ll, uh… Let’s talk later.” He trails off after that, and wastes a couple of precious seconds just looking at his shoes, like he’s really so blown away by a kiss that he didn’t even participate in. You thump your tail on the couch to get him back on track.

“Oh, right. Dave. I don’t know why you even felt the need to ask. Obviously, he’s on the roof.”

* * *

Karkat was right. You would have been a fool to doubt him. Dave is indeed seated on the roof, one of his legs hanging over the edge, staring off at the skyline more stoically than you can even handle. You make your way over to the edge and ease yourself down next to him, let your feet dangle into the open air.

You don’t have to wait long for him to break the silence; you knew you wouldn’t. “What the hell are you trying to pull here, Harley?” He says without turning his head.

His voice is hard and tight where it should be smooth and easy. He sounds like he’s being strangled. You feel so guilty you wish you could just… teleport someplace else. But you can’t think that for long, otherwise you actually might, and then you wouldn’t be able to talk to Dave. And you know that you _need_ to have this talk with him. It's as vital as any timeloop you've ever closed.

“I... I don’t know why I did that, Dave. I’m so sorry.” You start, faltering a little. “I just… acted on impulse! I don't know what I was thinking.”

Dave glances at you sharply. “Lemme stop you right there. I know you’re not interested in eloping with Karkat. I know you didn’t plant your lips on him just now out of any desire to get in his drawers. I’ve heard some pretty unbelievable tales about your interspecies homosexcapades, but I really don’t think you’d just try and jump Karkat’s bones while I’m right there, eating a poptart, minding my fucking business.” He finally turns his head to look at you, and you feel caught in his gaze. “So why’d you do it?”

You gawp, open your mouth and close it again like a fish. Finally, you say to him, “I mean... you _have_ to see the way he looks at you.” And that seems like a good starting point, so you grab hold of it, keep going. “You'd have to be blind not to! I see it. I... I saw him give you that _fucking_ poptart and, I could just almost reach out and touch it. How much he loved you... I don’t see why you guys just can’t be together!”

The last part comes out as a plaintive cry, and you bitterly wish that you didn’t sound the way you sounded. Who even does this, whines to two of the most important people in their life about why they should be dating? What kind of lunatic takes it so damn personally when their friends don’t want to kiss each other?

Dave’s mouth closes into the hardest, thinnest line you’ve ever seen. It’s the line between Just and Heroic. It’s the width of a human hair. "It's--"

Then he lets out some breath in a cracked little sob. “Oh, god, Jade. It’s a lot of things. I know you’re enjoying some kind of arcane sexual awakening right now, but it’s not like that for me. Not by a long shot. I can hardly admit to myself I’m bisexual. Some days I straight up can’t. I get up in the morning, look myself straight in the eye while brushing my teeth. Congratulations on your heterosexuality.” He laughs. It’s hard, without mirth.

“And it’s not just the gay thing. Or the alien thing. Or the game thing -- although pretty much everything in our entire lives can fit under the umbrella of ‘the game thing’, so maybe scratch that part.” He pauses to breathe. He looks so, so sad. But he’s talking.

“I have my own thing, see. This thing, that I have, this fucking thing. It poisons everything I do. It doesn’t even have anything to do with Karkat, or how he's an alien, or the fact that maybe I’m a little gay. It's not toxic masculinity, or emotional repression, or whatever. Or, yeah, okay, it’s all of those things.” Dave’s voice is getting thinner, higher in pitch. His words are getting faster. You can taste his fear in the back of your nose, can practically hold it on your tongue like a lump of lead.

“Or I guess what it is, is the cause of all those things. The actual, deep down, twisted-up, ugly motherfuckin' _root_ of the matter. It's my thing.” Abruptly he barks another laugh. This one is cold as a freezer shelf. “This one problem, it's just for me. It's all mine. This one issue that doesn’t really directly fit into anything, that isn’t really relevant, that’s too ugly to get into the details about.”

All you can do is nod, struck mute. You know. You really, really know.

“Just some stupid fucking shit from a million years ago. Something that only fucking matters to you. Something that's so far away, but somehow. Somehow you can't ever quite get far enough, can't ever seem to get someplace where it don’t matter no more.”

“Dave.” You finally manage to say. “Dave, what happened?”

He continues talking like you hadn’t said a word, except his voice cracks, his eyes dart towards you really fast, like a prey animal. You have a bad feeling, a really bad feeling, and you wish the two of you weren’t so close to a ledge, where he might skitter off like a lemming.

"Shit that went down when I was just a little kid, really, and then never again. You know? Everything about my life is better now. So I should just forget about it. That was a broken universe, you know? Keep it in the box and return it, maybe if you have a receipt they’ll give you a refund.”

“Maybe they will. But what I'm saying is the product was still defective, yo. It had hells of asbestos up in there, son. Now look at me. I’m all diseased and shit. Now my kids are gonna have congenital illnesses. Now every person I fucking talk to is gonna get sick. And to hell with getting compensation. Man, these people. Their lawyers never take a day off.”

He looks at you, really looks at you. His shades are still folded on the coffee table down in the apartment. Without them, he seems so much younger. It’s not that his face has any particular expression so much as the lack of tension it carries. It's as slack as a skeleton tumbling out of a closet. It's as solemn as a gravedigger, after the funeral procession has all gone home, lowering that coffin one last time. Whatever Dave is about to tell you, you want to absorb it right into your brain cells, give it all the attention it deserves. Your ears feel like they’re going to detach and soar into the stratosphere, they’re pricked so hard, like sonar dishes ready to receive signs of life from an alien planet. Dave shakes his head, a violent thrash, and keeps talking. You watch the way his adam’s apple works its way up and down his throat, up and down.

“And I guess everyone and their mother already fuckin’ knows what went down in that apartment. I guess the community gossip train’s passed that nasty little family secret around by now, huh. Shit’s all worn around the edges.” Dave’s face contorts in a sneer, so jarring and ugly on his delicate little birdface. “Well, I got news for you. None of you people know shit. You don’t know shit about what happened. Not a single thing.”

“Let me put it this way, Jade. I haven’t busted a single nut in seven fucking months. And you might be asking yourself, why? I'm a strapping young gentleman, in the prime of my youth. Ain't as if I'm under any illusions about the fate of my immortal soul if I give into temptation and rub one out. Ain't like I'm scared I'll go blind if I unload too much semen. It ain't anything like that." 

"So why can't this young, virile gentleman seem to keep a boner? Well, Harley, let me tell you. It's cause every time I try to fucking-- choke my chicken, all of a sudden I feel like, I’m fucking, nine years old again. Like I'm nine, and I'm in Texas, getting, fuckin', choked against the wall, getting--”

At this point he has to stop, to breathe, and you blurt, “Dave, can I please give you a hug?”

Because you have never in your entire life seen someone who needed a hug so badly.

He cocks his head at you, looking for all the world like a lost little kid. Your heart breaks, for him, for all of you. You’re a girl of action. You lean towards Dave and wrap your arm securely around his noble little shoulder-bones, so much like wings, about to spring off into the sky and never be seen again. You can feel how hard he’s shaking, feel glad for the size and strength of your body, how useful it's being for cradling Dave right now, and making him safe.

When Dave speaks again, his voice is flat and small as an old dime. “So, basically, what he did, was like, an act of dominance. Or something. Obviously Dirk isn’t a pedophile. I don’t think my Bro was, really, a pedophile. That’s just. That was how he figured he could get to me. That’s how you take a mind game to the next level. You make it into a body game. It was so impersonal, when you come down to it. He saw me as like, a lab experiment. A little gerbil in a little cage. Or something. So that should make me feel better.”

He's silent and you listen for a while to his shuddering fever-breaths. "That should make be feel better." He tells you, with his voice weighed down like it's full of rocks. "But... But I thought the world of him. I really fucking did. To me, he was the shit” Dave turns his face into your shirt.

“I loved him.” He murmurs. You squeeze him tight and rub his shoulder, up and down. Just like you’d hoped it would, the repetitive motion gets him to ease up a little, start to breathe again.

Even though he didn’t really mention Karkat when he was talking, Dave has given you all the answers that you needed. This is the final piece in your tapestry of sexuality's mysteries, or if not the final piece ever, then at least stunning new angle, one which you had never considered. A little bit guilty on account of ruining an important moment but nonetheless as busy as ever, Jade the scientist is already typing up notes somewhere in your big, foggy mess of a brain. This is a breakthrough discovery.

The idea that sex could be used in such a despicable way. The fact that it’s something dangerous. You’ve been afraid of sex before, but not like this. You’d never considered how horrible it might be to have that be your experience, getting screwed over right from the get-go. Poor Dave, he never even had a chance. You can’t believe you thought he was having orgies on the meteor! You’re such a stupid, insensitive shit sometimes.

But at least you got this one thing right. You hold Dave a while longer, then the both of you go back downstairs, where Karkat has a monster sized plate of Totinos waiting, plus chips, multiple types of dip for the chips, and three steaming mugs of cocoa. The feelings jam that follows is as dramatic and heart-wrenching as it is touching, and while Dave and Karkat didn’t kiss right then and there, or at all, actually, for a really long time afterwards, everyone felt really good about everything, and you got through all of the Paul Blarts, every single one.

* * *

You keep trying to get Karkat and Dave to go on a double date with you, but neither of them really want to meet someone from the internet, and even though you’re considering a long term relationship now, you haven’t yet found anyone who you’ve really clicked with. At this point, it feels like some kind of weird game show. Six dates a month and you’re not having sex with any of them, just talking. Peering at each other over the tops of ceramic tea sets. Sometimes you wonder if it’ll actually work, if you’re ever going to find love like this. You like to hope you will, someday. If you keep being brave. If you're as clever as you can be.

It’s still super hard not to be jealous of Dave and Karkat, though. You still go to their house every week, and usually you see them more. They’re at your place all the time, more often than not together. And really _together_.Like, stacked on top of one another like Pringles. You’d say you wished that they never got together, except of course that isn’t true… but come on. Dave was eating Karkat’s boogers the other day, on your sofa. Not cool! But at least they can save money on chairs, har dee har har, you know, 'cause now they only need one. Seeing them just picking crumbs off of each other's sweater, and Dave smiling so easily, being cuddled like a cat... Sometimes you have to go into the other room and take a minute. But you always come back out, and everyone always leaves on good terms. And you're happy for them. Obviously! They're your friends.

Ultimately, there are more ways to learn about someone than mashing body parts together (although mashing body parts together remains a pretty good option, and should always be considered). Human sexuality (or you guess just “sexuality”, provided the act of sexual congress is no longer confined just to humans) is a topic so broad and far reaching that, much like the umbrella of sBurb, which casts a shadow over your entire life and beyond... maybe its reach is so goddamn vast that there’s really no way to gauge it at all. And for better or for worse, yeah, you’re probably always gonna feel sad when you think about Davesprite, even if you end up living forever. Some things you just have to learn to live with, or to live without.

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings:
> 
> gender-related body dysmorphia (read: jade's doggy dick), casual use of cisnormative language, mentions of childhood sexual abuse, a few sexual situations that are kind of uncomfortable and unpleasant??, excessive use of the term "sex act", furries (and this one is serious!), also there are brief mentions of adolescent/child sexuality but i promise you they are not included to provide sexual gratification.
> 
> i also would like to note that the views on gender and sexuality presented are entirely my own. i am nonbinary, intersex and gay, and this commentary is not coming from a cis person.


End file.
